The City of Dreams
by concisponci
Summary: The second half of the century is booming, the world is changing, technology is progressing. Subspace Advertising and its employees have to adapt to a new era, and amidst it all is rookie businessman Ike, struggling with finding his role in life and performing damage control after an impulsive decision with unforeseen consequences. AU inspired by Mad Men.
1. Introduction

**I realise that I have a habit of writing little speeches at the beginning of my chapters, but two things: This story is inspired by a series called Mad Men.** **And I own nothing; Nintendo does.**

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><p>The summer rain pats gently against the window, and the little drops run blissfully down on the glass.<p>

It was a hot day, and it still is. In fact, the entire summer has been marked by sweltering heat. People have been pushing blocks of ice into public swimming pools and then jumping into the still not-so-cool water. Ice has been on greater demand this season.

Regardless of the heat however, the city never sleeps. It won't sleep tonight either, and neither will Ike.

He's glad that the summer is almost over, but with its end comes the fall and with the fall comes more work.

The raindrops running down the window are silently racing against each other, and Ike rhythmically throws the white ball in his hand into the air and catches it, preoccupied in thoughts.

He should get back to work. He should get back to _thinking, _to being productive. But drop number three has captured his gaze as it outdistances drops number one, two and four, but then suddenly number five, whom Ike has thought chance-less, begins catching up. It gets ahead of number three and the race ends in the window frame.

"Urgh." Ike frowns. He has bet a lot of imaginary money on number three, but it's not like betting is his strength. This year was the last time he has accompanied mother and Mist to the Kentucky Derby. Never again.

His hand closes around the worn baseball; playing with it is just another thing he shouldn't be doing. It's his father's most beloved item, a priceless unicum signed by the NP Yankees' Falco Lombardi Sr.

His musings are abruptly ended by an energetic knock on the door. "Just a moment," he shouts and quickly takes the few steps to the desk to put the ball back into its little showcase.

There— it's as if it's never been moved.

"I'm coming in," a voice declares, and simultaneously the door is being pushed open. A woman with a red bun, glasses on her nose and a remarkable stack of papers in her arms walks in. "I've got some more letters for you, don't ask me why they didn't arrive in the morning —I'm guessing Shinon was the recipient— and a lot of people called. I wrote it all down, you'll have to go through the list and tell me who to get back to."

"Thank you, Miss Mato."

Titania drops the papers on Ike's desk. "I see you've been playing with that ball again."

"… Pff, no? That's an assumption out of nowhere." Ike scratches his head, abashed.

His secretary sends him a scolding, but motherly look. "It has to be upturned like this, so the signature is well visible," she mutters and tenderly grabs the ball to turn it around. "Just in case someone might want to take it out and put it back in." Ike rolls his eyes at that subtle suggestion— but it's an advice he'll be sure to remember. "What— The telephone!" Titania has now spotted the cable on the floor and hurries over to it. "You pulled the plug? No wonder no one could reach you. Oh, what am I going to do with you, Mister Greilsson?"

"That sounds just so wrong. What will it take for you to stop calling me that? Do I have to cut your pay?"

A little red light on the phone begins to blink, signalising that it's connected. Titania stands up after putting the plug back in. "You're my boss, what else should I call you? Ike? _Commander?_"

"Hah." Ike shuts his window. _I could get used to __'__Commander__'__. _"For the fifty-first time, 'Ike' is just fine."

Titania readjusts her glasses and searches for something in a drawer of the big oak desk. Ike doesn't mind. "You know it's hard for me to get used to that. To adjust myself."

He takes his cup of coffee to taste the beverage. It's cold and too sweet for him, but refreshing given the heat that's still raging both outside and in the building itself. "Really. It's been ten months, Miss Mato. You had no problems switching from 'Ike' to 'Mister Greilsson' within twenty-four hours. It doesn't sound right, you could be my mom!"

"I could not!" Titania looks flabbergasted. "Your very youthful aunt, if anything! And don't even consider cutting my pay, your father would turn in his grave, may he rest in peace." She walks back to the door, laden with a few files and folders from Ike's desk. "I am also to inform you that Sir Mario wants to come over before he leaves, so don't go home early."

"I wasn't planning to," Ike confesses, holding on to his cup. "I'll work through the night."

Titania stops in the door and sighs. "Again? Don't overexert yourself. I'll bring along breakfast in the morning."

"Thank you." He nods, and Titania gives him a pensive smile before she closes the door behind her.

Ike fishes the baseball out of its showcase and gets back to kneading it.

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><p>He's brooding over a financial report as the door is almost being kicked out of its hinges.<p>

"Ike, my boy," the melodious baritone of Sir Mario Mario, the other senior partner, sounds through the office. "Working hard, are we? A little bird told me you want to spend the night? What's happened? Is your sister making dinner today?"

"She actually took a cooking course during the summer." Ike has moved out of home during his studies already, but he's tired of reminding Mario of it every single time.

"Ah, that's a relief. Be that as it may, I brought you two sandwiches and a coffee for later. Can't have you starve, son." Thus, the corpulent man slaps a brown bag on Ike's desk. "So what's so important this time? Something overdue? Not the Lowell Acoustics case, I presume?"

"Not the Lowell Acoustics case." Shit. Where did he misplace _that _folder?

"Good, good." Mario twirls his moustache and walks around the office, inspecting the paintings on the walls and the furniture until Ike wonders why the man has even decided to come over. It's not like he sees the paintings for the first time, they've been here for as long as Ike can remember. "Keeping quite your distance to your father's chair, I see?"

Ike looks up from his papers. It's true, he's been leaning against the windowsill, but he likes it here. Especially when it's so hot; in case of an open window, the wind passes right through this spot, and if it's closed, the fan's just a step to the right. And in this heat, Ike has taken off both jacket and tie.

He eyes the huge leathern office chair. His father always looked so impressive in it, almost as if it were meant to be his throne.

Ike isn't small or puny himself, but whenever the sits in that chair, he feels as if he were drowning, as if the chair would swallow him in its massiveness.

Both men are staring at the piece of furniture in silence, then Mario takes a little metal plate from the desk and examines it. "Well. You've got big shoes to fill, son. Not everyone's worthy of a war hero's legacy, eh?"

A high sound rings through the room as the award is being placed back on the desk, as the little medal falls against the metal plate.

"Oh, your father was one hell of a man. We were the Terror of the Fronts", Mario mutters. "But I think you already know that story by heart, don't you? Nowadays we have to evoke terror in our competition. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, my boy?"

"New Pork City shudders at the mere sound of your name, Mario."

Mario suddenly slams his fists on the expensive desk (at which everything on it briefly jumps a few centimetres into the air) and points a finger at Ike, grinning. "Hah! That's my boy! Your father raised you well! Now let's get back to why I came over," he says a little calmer and puts the tips of is fingers together, business-like. "I got a call from Harkinian earlier today."

Ike briefly scours his brain for that name. "The business magnate?"

"This very one! Turns out he's interested in us promoting his company, so I'll need you to do a little research on Triforce Enterprises' stats and form an opinion. I've already called in a meeting for tomorrow."

Someone knocks on the door, but Ike is too busy with choking on the fresh coffee Mario brought him to answer. He can hear Titania shout '_no no no no no_', but the door opens anyway and in slips a buxom blonde in a pink dress and white heels.

"_Tomorrow?_" Ike repeats after Mario. Usually the discussions about whether to take a new client on don't take place at such short notice, and everyone has more than enough time to prepare. But Ike only has one night. Which he's now looking forward to even less than before.

Mario extends his hand to the woman, who's tottering to him on her high heels. _Probably his most recent trophy_, Ike concludes. _Looks like his second wife, but thirty years younger._

"Ah, let me introduce you two. Ike, this is Penelope Toadstool. Penelope, meet Ike Greilsson, Subspace Advertising's other senior partner. I know he looks quite _junior _for a senior, but I outclass him when it comes to experience."

Mario gives the girl a very raunchy look, but she ignores him and flutters her eyelashes at Ike. Their handshake lasts a moment too long for him to feel comfortable with it. "Call me Peach," she warbles.

"Oh, and she's as sweet as a peach, this one," Mario hollers and wraps his hand around his young friend's waist to pull her to him. "So energetic, so full of _vigour_!"

With that last word, he's apparently grabbed the girl's butt, because she squeaks and jumps. Then Peach begins to giggle and Mario joins in with his booming laughter.

"Well, I've got work to do. You kids have fun," Ike declares and reaches for a pen to chew on. Mario absolutely loves it when Ike treats him like they're peers.

"We will! My yacht is waiting for us, ain't it so, Peach?"

Peach giggles.

"Eat the sandwiches, Ike, or I'll get an earful to hear from your mother," Mario adds as he pulls his new friend out of the office. "See you tomorrow, buddy!"

"Bye-bye, Mister Greilsson," Peach breathes and winks before the door slams shut, and Ike is alone at last.

Ike sinks into the huge chair and stares at the files piling up on his desk. A stray loch has fallen over his eye, and he pouts as he blows it away. Great, now he also has to go to the barber's (his mother has already offered to trim his hair herself, but he fears to end up looking like a cow has licked his head).

He has to look for this damn Lowell Acoustics folder, and on top of that gather information on Harkinian and TE, and he has no idea where to start.

With the coffee. Ike reaches for the cup and then for the first file.


	2. Part One: The Professional, Chapter 1

**Part One: The Professional**

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><p>The city is huge. Home to several millions of people, a metropolis and cultural centre. Although Corneria's biggest city, people from all over the world live in New Pork City, its population is a melting pot of different cultures.<p>

Ike loves the city. Although his pay check is rather lavish and would allow him to live in the central or eastern districts, after moving out of the shared dorm in the university and then into a cramped flat in the western district, Ike has finally decided to settle down in the southern part of the city, in a comparatively cheap penthouse apartment overlooking the Laguz Plains, the biggest public park.

Tonight however, Ike won't spend the evening with Ranulf, Link, Little Mac or other colleagues in a bar, neither will he spend it in his flat, trying to cook something tasty.

No, while his home is the city, the suburbs are where he grew up. The Greilssons have a family estate, and Ike's mom is making dinner.

Although technically the suburbs aren't far away, it takes at least an hour to get out of the city. If you're lucky. And luck isn't on Ike's side today, the friday night/pre-weekend traffic has cost him an additional hour already, but finally he's rolling up the driveway leading to the house.

The rain's still gently patting onto the black TMW's windshield as he parks it in front of the garage, but at least it's not as hot as it was before. Ike runs the twenty metres to the door, and the rain running into his collar and down his back actually feels cold against his skin.

It's impossible for mother or Mist not to have seen him, there is light in the kitchen whose windows are overlooking the driveway and patio; but still, no one's opening the door as Ike rings the bell. Twice, thrice, the rain is slowly running into his eyes, and then, just as he wants to slam his fist for the fourth time on the bell, he hears someone lazily dragging their feet towards the door.

A girl with light brown hair and clear blue eyes rips the door open. "You look like a wet dog", she flatly comments and steps aside to let him in.

"Get your soapbox out of the garage." Ike ruffles his wet hair, _accidentally _splattering his sister. "In case it begins to hail. Is mother in the kitchen?"

Mist slams the door shut, following Ike through the long hall. "So Yune can have a broken windshield? No way. You know _I _would have to pay the repair, right?"

"Yune? Geez, Mist, stop baptising your cars. That's not even a real name."

The kitchen door is open, a delicious smell finding its way to Ike's nose and leading him into the room. His mother is standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a big pot. "I saw your car coming up the driveway. You're late, darling," she calls and briefly turns around to behold her son.

Ike inwardly sighs. His mother knows very well that the traffic on fridays is bad, so he doesn't even answer this hidden accusation. Leaning down, he gives Elena a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, mother. You look as young as ever. Dressed for another fundraiser?"

Elena smooths down her apron— the piece of clothing that doesn't really go with her flowery dress and the diamonds on her ears. "A fundraiser? No, not today. I haven't seen my son in weeks, thought it would be nice to dress for the occasion."

"Alright." Ike opens the fridge and is pleasantly surprised to see some beer in it. He pops the bottle and leans on the kitchen counter, observing his mother as she cooks. Following father's death, Elena's cut her hair and has been sporting a stylish thing she calls 'bob' (if Ike recalls correctly). She's been busy with at least one fundraiser per week, most of which she's been organising. And soon Mist will move out of home as well— she's just been postponing it given father's death. Apparently mother's been toying with the thought of moving to the city as well. "So, mother, any news concerni—"

"We'll talk during dinner, darling." Elena gives her son's feet a brief, but meaningful look. "You're dripping."

Ike glances down: a little puddle has appeared on the marble tiles around his shoes. "That's because _someone_" —and at that he sends his sister, who walks into the room, a nasty look— "kept me waiting in the rain. Can I go take a shower or is the food ready?"

Elena is about to answer, but Mist beats her to it. "The food kept getting cold and won't be ready for another twenty minutes because _someone _decided to be late!"

"Mist, it's friday night. For all we know, he could've been another two hours late," mother reminds her and tastes the soup as Ike leaves the room. He's already jogging up the stairs when he hears his sister complain about being hungry.

The house is big, it always has been, but never has it felt as empty as it does now. On the way to his old room, Ike takes a peek into his father's bureau. The desk's still there, as well as all of the books and papers and shelves, but everything's tidied up. It's a tidiness that looks wrong, but then again, it's been almost a year, and he can't blame mother for wanting to change things and move on.

Upon opening the door to his room, Ike groans. Obviously Mist has dumped part of her stuff on his bed and floor. None of the other five empty rooms strike her fancy, apparently. _Great._

He fights his way to the closet through his sister's books and suitcases, only to find it full of bright dresses. Cursing Mist, Ike rummages around her clothes and finally finds some pieces of clothing that actually belong to him: a shirt, a sweater and some old sweatpants.

His hair is still damp as he sits down at the table across his sister. Mist just rolls her eyes. "You know, you could've helped mom setting the table," she says and stuffs some bread into her mouth. "Just because you're the man in the house now doesn't mean you get to have her being your servant."

"Great job helping her yourself, Mist."

Mist sticks out her tongue at him. "Anyway. Have you driven SA to bankruptcy yet?"

Ike leans back in the chair and traces the edge of his glass with his finger. "No. Sorry to disappoint."

"And how's Link? And the cute intern with the white shirt?"

"Intern with the white shirt?"

"Well at least there was one last month when we had lunch together, remember? I came to pick you up at SA."

"Oh, right." They should go to lunch together more frequently. The siblings aren't particularly talkative people, but mother said that lately Mist's been hanging out with new people. _Maybe I should investigate a little. _"Since we only have one intern, I assume you're talking about Shulk. Did you even _talk _to him?"

Again, Mist rolls her eyes. "No, but I saw him, and that's sufficient."

"Good for you."

"So how's Mario holding up? I heard the divorce in finalised," his sister says and takes a glance over her shoulder, then leans forward with a hint of conspiracy on her face. "Mom saw Rosalina last week during the Save the Snorlax Charity Ball, and apparently she's happier than ever. Mom even says she smiled! Can you believe that? Also, she had Luma with her in her handbag."

Ike leans forward as well. Since their childhood, Mario's been the main object of gossip. "Luma? That yapper's still alive? No wonder she had to carry him around, I bet he's too old to walk." Mist grins at the prospect of that. "Mario's found a new friend, actually. Penelope, but if you ever meet her, call her Peach. Apparently _'__Pomegranate__' _was already taken. Looks exactly like Francesca, just without all the botox."

"Francesca? Gosh, that's a long time ago. Wasn't she the blonde?"

"Yeah. She was the one who pushed Mario to do some sports."

Mist's eyes widen as she remembers. "Ah, yes! Man, that was a really, _really _long time ago! He was slim. So back to Rose, mom says the divorce pretty much drained Mario."

Ike nods and leans over to see if mother is still cooking. He sees her standing with her back to them, cutting some bread. This 'divorce' thing is still rather new, but Mario's the king of remarriage already. Neither Mist nor Ike remember his first wife, but Ike probably won't forget Francesca, wife number two. He still recalls when they all went to the zoo and mother was preoccupied with Mist in the buggy, so Mario's Italian wife took him to the Aquarium and bought him a stuffed Magikarp. In a way, she was his childhood crush. Five years later, Mario filed for divorce and Francesca moved back to Italy.

And then came Rosalina. The thought of Mario without her is almost as odd as the thought of mother without father. But even though Rosalina divorced Mario, she's been mother's tower of strength during this past year. She'll still be like an aunt to them. Just the aunt who hates the uncle.

Ike stretches. "He's still got his yacht though. And it's not like he'll ever be _poor. _By the way, care to explain why both Ranulf and Boyd wanted me to send you their regards?"

His sister shrugs. "No reason."

"No reason my ass. Next time we meet for lunch you're waiting outside of SA."

Before Mist can drop a snarky remark, mother comes with the soup and puts it on the table between the siblings. Mist confines herself to sending her brother a venomous look across the big bowl and begins pouring the soup on her plate. "So, beloved brother. Don't you want to tell us about SA's market value and the stock prices?"

"Don't you dare," Elena says as she sits down and holds out her plate for Mist to fill it, "your father always talked about that company as if it were his wife. I'm not going to have my son fill my ears with SA after I haven't seen him for weeks."

"There's not much to tell," Ike confesses and holds out his plate as well, but Mist demonstratively puts the soup ladle back into the big bowl after serving mother. Ike ignores his sister's fake smile and pours himself some soup. "I won't ramble on about it because Mist wouldn't be able to keep up with it anyway, but everything's fine and dandy. We had a lot to do in the last few weeks, I was pretty much forced to work overtime, but that phase should be over now. There are some potential new clients, a few high-profile ones even."

"Like who," Mist demands, chewing on her bread.

"Mist. Don't speak with your mouth full," Elena reminds her, but Mist just takes another bite.

Ike snorts. "Why would I tell you? That's confidential."

"Dad always did," Mist says between two bites. "Come on! Whom did you take, whom did you dump?"

"Well, I'm not dad," Ike clarifies.

"Obviously not. Else the Ridells wouldn't have bailed out."

She's seemingly pleased at Ike's incredulous face. "Hey, that was _not _my fault! They already had doubts last year! Mother, can you believe her?"

Elena gives her daughter a scolding look. "Honey, I would appreciate it if you didn't torture your brother with your pessimism. We're supposed to have a friendly family reunion," she reminds her, but all Mist does is cross her arms and look away.

"Don't call it that if we're not complete."

Instinctively, Ike looks to the other end of the table. To the empty chair.

Mother takes a deep breath. "Eat your soup, Mist. I want none of your negativity at my table."

And Mist doesn't say another word during the rest of the dinner. Mother tries to have some smalltalk, but it feels forced. She summarises the last few fundraisers and charity balls and begins to rant about the new neighbours from Ylisse who expect her to cut down father's beloved weeping willow, but at least their daughter Lucina looks like an elegant young lady. Maybe Ike could ask her out? And next time he visits, he should bring Link along— he's a decent young man. Isn't he, Mist?

Mist gives her mother a pinched smile and begins to clear the table. Ike jumps up to help her while Elena goes to the cellar to get some nice Altean wine.

"Are you still going somewhere?" Ike asks as Mist just dumps the dishes in the sink and rushes out of the kitchen without a word. Three minutes later she's back in the hallway, in beige pants and a yellow jacket. Ike leans against the doorframe and observes his sister with crossed arms as she squeezes her feet into a pair of flat shoes. "I asked you a question."

"I know," Mist clarifies and pulls out a fiery red lipstick of mother's purse.

"Red isn't your colour."

She flashes her eyes at her brother, but smudges the colour on her lips a little. "Yes, I'm still going somewhere."

"Too much information," Ike says. He's a little worried. Since when is Mist so social?

"It's none of your business, actually, but I'm meeting Lucina. You know, the one mom wants you to play happy family with? Don't bother asking her out though. She doesn't want anyone with blue hair."

_Right. _Ike loves his mother, but he'd never ask out one of the girls she finds pleasant. "Right. So where are you going?"

Mist just smiles, then slams the door shut as she leaves. Ike turns around and goes back to the kitchen, seeing his sister's frame running across the front yard in the rain.

Someone sighs behind him.

"She's not taking it well," Elena says and opens the wine, while Ike takes two glasses out of a cupboard and follows his mother to the parlour. "You know her… She's always been a rebel. She doesn't tell me much, but I can figure out by myself that university must be hard for her. It's not a place for girls. Your father was always supportive of Mist. She doesn't really let me reach out to her anymore."

It's been a long day. Father and what he's left behind is something they've talked about too much already, and Ike's not so keen on discussing it again. Especially not after the stressful week he had. The sofa almost swallows him in its pillows as he lets himself fall on it, and Ike feels like he is in heaven.

"Your hair's gotten long, darling," Elena states, then takes an elegant sip of her wine. "Tell me about your high-profile clients."

Ike gulps down his wine before answering. The past few days haven't given him any time to relax. "Lowell Acoustics. We offered them a deal and now they're interested. The meeting's on monday, maybe we can seal the deal then." He rubs his eyes and leans back.

His mother silently nods, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. "Didn't you study with the Lowell boy?" she asks him.

Ike nods. Yes, he did have some classes with him. Marth. He seemed like a nice guy, and they even did some fencing together before Ike decided the sport was too… _lightweight _for him. "He was the one who asked me to join the fraternity, actually."

"It's still beyond me why you declined."

"They're like an elitist sect, mother. I already told you."

Elena sighs and observes the rings on her fingers. "Your father wanted you to join, I remember. He said many doors would open themselves for you with such connections."

"Not everything turned out how father imagined it."

Thereupon, mother says nothing. It's true though, their lives have been irrevocably changed that one night ten months ago. And they have to cope with the consequences, whether they want to or not.

But it's still anything but nice to talk about it. "Also, Harkinian want to work with us, but we won't take them on," Ike says, anything to change the topic.

Mother looks up, then. "Oh, the Harkinians are an old and influential family. I had the privilege to briefly meet Sir Virgil a few years ago at a fundraiser. A very polite man, though he's long past his prime. The family's emigrated from Hyrule generations ago. But he was still very traditionally _Hylian _in his demeanour."

She smiles, but her formerly so bright blue eyes have been murky and hollow for quite some time now. It also pains Ike to see how thin his mother has gotten. Her cheekbones are protruding, her hands bony, she looks brittle overall. "I wonder, did he actually come to SA in person? Virgil Harkinian's known for hiding in his mansion."

Ike shakes his head and pours more wine into his glass. "No, we only got a call. But someone's going to have to come over to hear our decision."

"Speaking of work and mansions, I've decided to move to the city."

Just a year ago, these words were something Ike never thought he'd hear his mother say. But now he almost expected it, so he isn't taken by surprise. "How come?" he asks, though he knows the reason just as well as her.

"Nothing's holding me here," Elena says, looking around the room, taking in the walls and paintings that have been their home, or part of it, for all these years. "Mist has to move out, and when she does, this house will be too big for me alone. It's too big already. I'll get a nice apartment in the East District, I think, or downtown. It will also be more convenient for work."

"What about the estate?"

"It will wait here for you. I can't sell it. Your father wanted you to have it." Mother sighs again, downing her wine. "And Mist just ran off to god knows where with her new friends… She's always in these… _clubs _now, listening to that man who ruined music."

"Elvis?"

"Yes, that's his name." Elena rolls her eyes. "He's a nine day wonder, no more. Trust me. When I was young, people still had good taste."

Ike refrains from confessing that he doesn't find his music _that _bad.

Now he looks around as well, contemplating. Yes, he grew up here— but will he ever move back? He loves the city. Grandfather built the house, and Ike doesn't see why everyone has a problem with Mist inheriting it instead of him. It would stay in the family. Better not bring it up, though. Father never wanted to hear anything about that, and Ike doubts mother would be keen on hearing any of it.

The rest of their conversation is a rather sober one. In accord with a silent agreement, certain topics are being carefully avoided. Elena goes back to telling about her fundraisers in a detailed manner, confirms Mist's tale about Rosalina's wellbeing. She then persuades Ike to tell her what he's been up to and if he's got anything interesting to tell about the staff at SA.

He doesn't, really. Except that Mario has a new secretary, a Twili, and the Lady Palutena has been pressuring Ike into giving her nephew Pit (a part-time employee) a full-time job.

Coincidentally, the Lady's on the guest list to Elena's next fundraiser, so mother offers to talk to her then. Ike shrugs, and although he doesn't believe mother will be successful in making Palutena back off, he doesn't refuse her offer.

The amount of work he has is overwhelming, and Ike wonders whether father had as much to do as he does now. And if so, how he wasn't burned out all the time, how he managed to carry it off well.

As Elena goes on to talk about Elincia Ridell's unjustly inherited jewellery, Ike suddenly realises how terribly tired he is. His day was excruciating, and he really doesn't care about the Ridells' family heirlooms or intestacy rules in general. "Mother?"

"Yes, dear?"

Ike stifles a yawn. "I'm sorry, but I'm falling asleep. I had a long day."

Elena stands up, collects the two wine glasses from the table and gently touches her son's cheek. "I understand," she says, stroking away random lock that's fallen over Ike's eyes, "you should get some rest for tomorrow. The lawn's not going to mow itself."

_Of course_ there's chores to be done. Ike growls as he gets to his feet, but at least he knows mother will let him sleep in (he's not so sure if Mist will, though).

Back upstairs in his room, he stumbles over his sister's stuff and various boxes, then falls into his bed. Mist will get an earful, he scornfully decides, and then she'll have to move all of that shit out of his room, whether she wants to or not. _He _sure won't do it, he already has to take care of the lawn.

Just a minute later, he's fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 2

"Write that down, Midna."

She does as she is told, and she does it diligently. She'll be the best secretary Sir Mario has ever had, and the one she's writing now will be the best fucking protocol he'll ever see. Midna's not stupid; she knows that she owes the job to the fact that SA wanted to hop onto the diversity train, and there were so many other applicants that she can also thank her good looks to have landed the job. But she's gotten her chance, and she'll make the most of it.

The Creative Director speaks up now. "FOXHOUND wasn't pleased with what we came up with. Their Big Boss personally called and basically said the idea was crap."

"What were his words exactly?" Mario asks, taking a drag of his cigar.

Midna swears she saw Ranulf flinch. "That the theme of the campaign doesn't strike their fancy and we should make use of the budget we were provided with", he says.

Some of the others begin to chuckle, but they all shut up when Sonic from Finances begins to speak. He's a quite fast an silent talker, and even Midna with her trained secretary ears has to concentrate a little to get what he's saying. "We don't have many other options. The budget they've given us is ridiculously tight for a company like FOXHOUND, and these idiots apparently think we at SA are magicians. The contract needs to be reworked if they want results."

"Hm." Mario frowns. While her hand flies across the paper as she writes down the words, Midna wonders what they're going to do about FOXHOUND. The company, specialising in weaponry, is one of SA's bigger clients, and they've been under contract for quite some time now. Lately it hasn't been going to well, however. Rumour has it that FOXHOUND wants to end the cooperation with SA, at least that's what Midna heard from Daisy, the head secretary. And to lose such a big client would be terrible for any agency, but so far SA hasn't found a way to please FOXHOUND.

Midna looks at her boss. The corpulent Italian's face is pensive, his fingers are impatiently tapping on the mahogany conference table.

She's been here for just a month, but she knows as well as everyone else that Mario was never the one with the creative brain. No, he is the one to establish contact with clients and land accounts, but Sir Greilsson was always the one who really won the clients over, who _kept _them. It's true that the Ridells were ready to end the cooperation before his death, but the problems with FOXHOUND have suddenly started to multiply over the past six months.

"So apparently they have a creative design department over at FOXHOUND," Ranulf continues, and everybody snorts —because why would a company that produces weapons need a creative design department if they're working with the leading ad agency in the city?— "and they are going to send some guy over to work with us. A certain David Snake. Anyone know that name?"

Again, laughter. "Never heard of him," Sonic comments.

"I don't know what the point of that is," Shinon grunts. "What, he's just going to parade in here and we have to take his stupid opinion into account just because he has some kind of ridiculous piss post over at FOXHOUND and thinks he can meddle with our campaign?"

"Maybe _he__'__ll_ manage to come up with something to satisfy FOXHOUND. You people haven't," Link from the sixteenth floor adds and gets a poisonous look from the ever disdainful Shinon.

The men begin to bicker again, and even Sir Mario joins in this time, probably without contributing anything useful. Midna turns to the window and looks out to the floor. It's dark outside. The meeting has been prolonged by at least an hour thanks to this FOXHOUND debate. Save for her and the few men in the conference room, everyone's gone already, and she'll be probably the last to leave. She still has to sort some documents in Mario's office.

Midna's eyes wander over every one of the men. She just wishes they would stop arguing and get to the point already. She wants to go home. Her eyes then stop on Sir Greilsson's son, Ike. Why can't _he _come up with something, if he's such a prodigy? But no, he's not even participating in the verbal fight the others have, he just chews on his pen and silently observes everyone. At least he has a seat, though. Midna shifts on her leg. Ike is actually one of the few tolerant and likeable bigwigs, but he's way too young to be Senior Partner, if you asked her. But no one ever does.

"Alright, alright," Mario suddenly shouts across the table. "Everyone shut up! This FOXHOUND representative will come here whether we like it or not, people! If we want them to keep them on, we need to keep them pleased, alright?" Almost everyone grumbles in annoyance, but no one dares to object. "Thats decided, then. We'll see what happens with the FOXHOUND man, so this topic is officially postponed until next month. So! Midna, what's next?"

She quickly pulls out a paper from her clipboard. "Harkinian, Sir. The call—"

"Right!" Mario claps his hands together. "Harkinian sends his daughter to wrap it up in his stead, and I need a volunteer to deliver the bad news."

Silence.

No one likes to break it to the clients, to tell them that SA doesn't want to work with them.

"The Harkinians aren't nobodies. Why don't you do it personally?" Link asks.

Sir Mario doesn't seem especially concerned. Instead, he looks a little displeased, probably because no one's volunteering. "If it were Old Virgil himself, I would. Otherwise I have a meeting tomorrow that has priority."

Everyone rolls their eyes at that, but still nobody speaks up to volunteer. Mario's eyes restlessly wander around the men's faces, who are denying him any eye contact. Then, the moment before he sets his narrowed eyes upon the other Senior Partner, Ike speaks up.

"Fine, I'll do it." In an unmotivated move, he raises his hand and laxly lets it fall back down.

Mario slaps the table with his flat hand in approval, so hard that the glass in front of him almost tips over, and Link to his left and Shinon to his right jump up. "Very good! I was waiting for you to say that, Ike. The Harkinian woman should be received by someone in your position."

"_You _are someone in my position," Ike straightfacedly states.

Young Greilsson has a quick tongue. Midna bites her lip at that, curious at how Mario might react. The Italian _doesn__'__t_ react, really. He falls quiet for two seconds or so, holds his gaze on the younger man. Then he suddenly begins to nod. "Well, it's good that you are up to it. Shame on you others for not volunteering, though. It makes me want to cut your lunch break."

That roils the men in the room. Though Ganon from the twentieth floor remains as stoic as ever, Ranulf actually looks offended. So does Sonic, and Link begins explaining himself, repeating the words 'pumpkin' and 'surgeon' (Midna has no idea what that has to do with anything, really). Shinon suggests to cut Ike's lunch break instead, and then the meeting is over.

Midna's in the middle of sorting the papers on her desk while the men are still discussing something in the conference room. She's been asked to leave them for a minute, and who is she to object? A blonde woman is waiting on one of the couches in the entrance area, and Midna feels uncomfortable under her stare. The blonde's been sitting there for at least five minutes now, and she's been observing the readhead Twili this whole time.

Finally Midna straightens her back, looks up to the bimbo. "Can I do something for you?" she asks across the hall.

The bimbo is Mario's new friend. Midna's seen her several times already, but apart from that one time when they've been briefly introduced, she's never spoken to her.

"Midna, isn't it?" The blonde asks. That's correct, and Midna nods, wondering why the woman would've remembered her name. She feels a little bad at having forgotten how the blonde's called.

The woman stands up, then, and begins walking towards Midna. The Twili wonders what the heck the blonde would want from her, but in that exact moment, the door behind Midna is being kicked open and the men begin to leave the conference room.

The blonde immediately smiles and turns around to greet a grinning Mario, having apparently forgotten all about Midna.

The secretary isn't given much time to further think about it, though. A shadow falls over her desk, and she hears someone clear her throat.

"I need a protocol."

She spins around. A very sour looking Shinon stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring at the desk between him and her. Instinctively, Midna reaches for her clipboard with the requested papers on it. "I'm sorry, I haven't copied it yet."

Shinon yanks his head up. "What does that mean? You left the room ten minutes ago, shouldn't that be enough time to make copies of a few pages of protocol?"

Midna has to forcefully swallow her anger. "I'm afraid I had other priorities, Mister Jones. The protocol will be ready first thing in the morning. I'll have it sent straight to your office."

He gives her a look so full of disdain that she can almost hear the short '_poof_' in her head as all of her self-confidence dissolves into thin air.

_Ignore him, Midna. Think of your job. _And she looks down to keep sorting her files, but she can see her hands shake. She prays that Shinon doesn't notice it as well.

"Do I need to remind you tha—"

"Shinon!" Just as he's about to launch into a rant, the asshole is suddenly interrupted by someone else. Midna turns away, but she recognises Ranulf's voice. "We're waiting for you." Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the slender man with the light blue hair pull Shinon's arm, but the latter frees himself from the grasp.

"I've got other things to do, I told you before," he says, irritated.

Ranulf scratches his head. "Oh? I don't remember. You must've told Ike."

"Im pretty sure it _wasn__'__t _Ike," Shinon spits.

Midna's already uncomfortable enough, but speak of the devil— Ike Greilsson himself suddenly appears out of nowhere to join the little circle. "Is dear Shinon giving you a hard time again, Midna?"

The Twili keeps her eyes fixed on her papers, but she can feel Shinon's eyes warningly burning themselves into her face. She shakes her head. "No. Mister Jones merely asked me a question." Midna doesn't need anyone's help. If she can't handle Shinon on her own, maybe she doesn't deserve the job.

"Okay." Ike doesn't sound too convinced, but there's nothing he can do. She looks up them— and Shinon is gone. Ranulf and Ike are left standing in front of her desk in awkward silence. "Well… don't stay too long. It's getting dark outside."

Go figure! It's October. Midna presses her lips together in amusement. My, he has a quick tongue, but apparently smalltalk isn't his strong point.

Quite contrary to Ranulf. "Yes, that tends to happen at eight in the evening. Hey, we're going to Kirby's for dinner. Do you want to come?"

"I'm afraid I can't. I need to finish filing documents. There's still some stuff left to do for Sir Mario."

Ranulf shrugs. "Alright then. See you tomorrow." Ike gives her a nod, and then the both of them turn around to make their way towards the elevators, and Midna is left there in the dimly lit office floor with her papers.

* * *

><p>The steak au poivre is steaming as the waitress arrives and places it in front of Ike, and he's so hungry that it almost physically pains him to wait for the others to get their food. But Boyd doesn't give him much opportunity to eat anyways. "So how's Mist doing?" the green haired asks.<p>

Ike narrows his eyes at the man. "Okay, what's going on? That's my baby sister we're talking about."

"Why, what should be going on? I'm just asking how she's doing." Boyd's food then arrives, and he conveniently stuffs his mouth with potatoes.

"Well, there's no denying that your sister is a very attractive young lady, Ike. Such untamed beauty, coupled with intelligence and cheeky gentleness—"

"Shut your mouth, Gatrie. You'd court a tree if it were wearing a dress," Ike flatly comments.

Gatrie doesn't seem surprised at all. "If it were a beautiful, slender birch tree, or maybe a romantic weeping willow, I'd—"

"Fair enough. Now that we know Gatrie isn't above fucking a tree, we can move on," Ranulf states, and Gatrie just shrugs and begins to eat. Ike gladly does the same. He doesn't even want to _imagine_ his sister going out with one of the three. Fine, maybe Ranulf wouldn't be too bad of a friend for Mist, but Boyd and Gatrie would be just _terrible _choices. And Rhys, the last in their little group, is married anyways. But if he weren't, Ike would swear that Rhys was asexual.

He's known the four for over three years now. Before he was so abruptly promoted to Senior Partner, they were all working together in the creative design department, and Ranulf has since worked his way up to the rank of Creative Director.

"Hey, you know who I _wouldn__'__t _fuck, though?"

"Oh, come on, Gatrie! We're through with this topic," Rhys stammers, heavily blushing.

Obviously, this is left ignored by Gatrie. "The Harkinian Hag!" he exclaims with glee.

Ike grins. "She wouldn't take you, either, Gatrie." The blond man pouts at that, and Boyd laughs so hard he almost spits out the beer in his mouth.

"Just so you know, smart ass, I don't need a sixty year old woman to take me!" Gatrie rebels. "I'm seeing a very fine young woman who actually asked to see me again!"

"This Stella girl?" Ranulf asks.

"Astrid," Gatrie proudly corrects him. "Astrid Damiell. Met her in the Park. She was on a ride with her horse in the Laguz Plains when a drunken ruffian threw his bottle at them and the animal bolted. I was just jogging, when deep inside, I felt that a lady was in need, and my instincts guided me down the right path through the woods. I managed to catch the horse with the very distraught girl on its back, and in gratitude, she begged to see me again. Her knight in shining armour."

Ike snorts. As he knows Gatrie, he's been probably run over by the horse and the girl then had to scratch him off the ground.

Although Rhys' face looks dreamy, Ranulf and Boyd seem to be suppressing their laughter as well, which doesn't slip Gatrie's attention. He venomously stares them all down, too sulky to say another word.

"Seriously though, this Harkinian woman?" Boyd says. "Has Old Virgil finally gotten senile or why is he letting a woman represent his company?"

"Maybe because he's over eighty years old? That man was literally born in the past century," Ike suggests, sarcastically. "What do you want him to do?"

"Well, that happens when you don't have male heirs, my boy," Ranulf says and takes another bite of his fish burger.

Boyd ruffles his feathers. "Hah! Won't happen to me! My seed's so strong that there's no way I won't have a son."

Ike grimaces. "Dude. Do you see why I don't want you to touch my sister?"

"I'd actually like to have a daughter," Rhys whispers, "Mia and I are trying to get pregnant, and a little girl would be wonderful."

"Hey, congrats, Rhys," Ranulf says and raises his glass of milk (strangely enough, Ranulf's obsessed with milk. It's all he drinks, no matter how often he's teased about it).

"Yeah," Gatrie hollers, "congrats for getting some!"

Boyd clinks his glass against Gatrie's. Fair enough, Ike thinks and does so as well. Rhys' blush furiously amplifies to a traffic light kind of red, which looks quite funny with the man's reddish hair and pale complexion.

"Technically, Mia is the one who's trying to get pregnant, Rhys," Ranulf adds. "And you're the one trying to _get_ her pregnant."

"Let's— I— I don't want to— uh, uh—" Rhys begins to sweat and get all nervous. "Mia, she— guys, no— we should—"

"We should change the topic," Ike helps him out, and Rhys slumps down in his chair, the vegetarian meal on his plate is almost untouched. It's safe to assume that he probably _won__'__t _be one of those men who gain sympathy weight during their wife's pregnancy.

Boyd speaks up, and, to Ike's pleasant surprise, _doesn__'__t _further pursue this topic that makes Rhys so uncomfortable. No, "so who's up for the bar later?" he asks instead. And Ranulf grins and declares that he'll definitely participate in a pub crawl.

Truth be told, Ike would have been thrilled to go out and have some drinks with the guys, but work comes first. There's still some reports waiting for him to be read at home, and he's been planning to clean his apartment a little bit. Maybe mother is right, maybe he should just get himself a cleaning lady (or hey, why not just get married, right?). And maybe he _should _stop working through the nights, but after the weekend such a shitload of files and documents and other papers had been waiting for him in his office that Ike hasn't really got another option. He _has _to work overtime. There's no way around it. But at least this time he's decided not to stay in the office over night, so he's got his own couch and bed to look forward to.

The waitress with lilac hair suddenly appears between him and Ranulf, and Ike squints his eyes as he tries to remember her name. Her eyes hungrily wander over Rhys' still untouched dish as she clears the rest of their table— Ike recalls having once —out of pure concern— asked her if she would like him to buy her something to eat. She'd then explained that she was fine, really; she was just always hungry.

The girl asks Rhys whether he'll finish his meal, which the gentle man denies; judging by her eyes as she takes the plate , Ike knows exactly that the dish won't be thrown away. She's amusing, he thinks. So does Ranulf, apparently. Suddenly unusually shy, Ike sees his friend's cheeks redden as the waitress leans over him to reach Gatrie's plate, and he smirks at him after she's gone.

Ranulf merely rolls his eyes. "Her name's Ilyana," Ike then meaningfully says as her name suddenly reappears in his memory. "And the way to her heart is through her stomach."

Then he reaches for his beer and laughs as Ranulf's face turns a brighter shade of red.


	4. Chapter 3

The keys feel warm and cold alike in his hand, and Ike examines them for a second. Then he looks up. His father's small, dark eyes meet his. "Go on, son," father says, "time to take the wheel."

Ike looks back down, then up to his father. He only sees the man's back as he's walking around the monster truck to the passenger seat. "Okay," Ike says, more to himself than to father, who probably didn't hear him anymore. Then he takes the few steps towards the car and begins to climb up. But as he plops down in the driver's seat, father's not at his side. The other seat's empty.

He briefly wonders where father might have gone, but his hand is somehow being pulled towards the ignition, as if the key between his fingers were magnetic. There's not much to do besides putting it in and turning it around (and Ike has to apply some force, because the key sticks a little)— suddenly the motor revs, and the monster truck is alive. A short, single laugh escapes Ike's lips as he changes into first gear and drives the car for a second to test it out.

Instinctively, his hand wanders back to the shifter. _Sweet, _he thinks, _I wonder how much HP__—_

"What are you doing?!"

The engine stalls as Ike jerks at the sudden voice coming from the passenger seat. Mario sits there and looks at him in amazement.

"Uh, I— What does it look like? I'm driving. What are _you _doing here?"

"Watching out for you," Mario explains. "Gearshift? What were you thinking?"

Ike looks down at the shifter. "It just… was there."

"C'mon, son. That's a monster truck. Let's start with something smaller, shall we?" Mario is about to unbuckle himself, but Ike has something different in mind.

"No, I want to drive this thing," he says, and Mario's head shoots up. "You can leave if you want to, but I'm going to drive." Ike doesn't even _wait _for an answer, because he knows what Mario will do when he sees the Italian's pupils suddenly widen and his hand letting go of the seatbelt it was about to unbuckle, so Ike floors the gas pedal.

"Nice and steady," Mario screams, but the younger man doesn't listen. The monster truck bombs down the motorway they are suddenly on, and Mario covers his eyes and screams at the top of his lungs, while Ike's frolicsome laughter sounds like that of a maniac. And thus they go faster and faster, until the stars, the universe, time and space fly past them, and the screaming is drowned out by wild honking that comes closer and closer.

* * *

><p>And suddenly it's right next to Ike, and it's a sound so aggressive that a cold wave passes through his body. He tosses himself to the side, heart stopping for a split second as he realises there's a void underneath him, and then Ike lands with a brutal thud on the ground.<p>

For a brief moment, he doesn't understand where he is— just the constant, shrill ringing of the telephone signals that he's alive and awake, and eventually Ike understands that the reason he doesn't see anything is because he's wrapped up in a blanket.

He must've fallen from the couch, he concludes, untangling himself with a few grunts. Between an opened notebook and a half empty bottle of water the telephone sits on the little coffee table. A few pens patter to the floor as Ike blindly feels for the phone; he finds it fairly quickly given his drowsiness. The cord stretches itself as he pulls the handset to his ear, and Ike forces himself to sit up. "Yes?" He hopes that it didn't sound too _distant. _He's not yet really there with his thoughts.

"Mister Greilsson?" It's Titania. She sounds a little puzzled, but Ike's already partially shaken off his morningly confusion and firmly confirms it's indeed he who is speaking. Who else should it be?

Apparently, for some strange reason his secretary hadn't expected him at the phone, or at least that's what it seems like to Ike. He has to hold the handset away from his ear as Titania's voice rises to a higher pitch. "Why the heck are you on the phone, Ike?" he hears her shriek. His eardrum might burst, but at least she appears to be back to calling him by his first name.

"Why the heck shouldn't I be?" he barks back. What on earth has gotten into her? "It's my number! I live here!"

"Because I didn't expect you to be at home! You're supposed to be at the office!"

"Shit!" Ike jumps up and promptly slams with his head against the table. He's immediately wide awake. "Well why do you call when you don't expect me to be here in the first place?" he asks, hectically— but he's only half listening to Titania as she says something about having been worried because he didn't turn up at work, that she hoped he'd be on his way. Women's logic. Ike's eyes wander frantically around the room. Where did he put that _goddamn _Lowell Acoustics folder? Yes, he's late, but at least—

"And the Harkinian representative is supposed to be here in forty minutes," Titania screeches.

Ike's in the middle of stumbling out of his pants when the sound of that name hits him like a tidal wave. "Fuck," he exclaims and almost trips over the table. The telephone falls down and bobs up and down on the cord.

"Get dressed, _now!_" his secretary insists. "And don't you dare appearing in the suit you wore yesterday, do you hear me? No tie, that'll cost you five minutes more. Bow tie, the green one, and don't think you can forget to shave. Be here in forty-five minutes tops, I'll handle everything."

Clean suit, right. He doesn't know where the bow ties are, but they're ridiculous anyway, so he won't bother looking for them. "Tell Ranulf to meet her in the lobby," Ike declares, "I'll be there in thirty!" Then he hangs up before Titania can distract him with even more instructions.

It only took him five minutes to get ready, and twenty-three minutes after leaving the apartment, Ike dashes into SA's headquarters. He doesn't know if fate wanted him to be late or not. Not that Ike believes in such things— but ironically, even though he overslept, the subway was faster than usual. _Way _faster.

He heads straight for the elevators, but turns on his heel the second he spots a few middle-aged women waiting for the lifts. The Harkinian woman might be one of them.

Ike gets a few curious looks from the receptionists as he hurries past them to the door which leads to the fire exit, the janitor on the stairwell seems a little surprised as well, but Ike gives him the most confident smile he can muster in that moment and begins running up the stairs.

Naturally, he's out of breath after having climbed up to the twenty-first floor, and he must be red like a tomato (which is quite irksome, since he doesn't want to look like a nervous boy when confronting the Harkinian woman with the facts). But hey, at least he's beaten his personal record, Ike notices after quickly checking his watch. Boyd won't be able to beat that time— now less than ever!

Titania's already waiting for him in front of his office. The second she sees him approach, her eyes get this scary look, the same look his mother gets when he's done something unbelievably moronic. And this particular look would've still creeped him out some time ago, but Ike's not a child anymore. "Relax," he says and makes some calming gestures with his hands as he passes Titania, "you gave me forty-five, and I've still got some minutes until she'll be here."

That does _not _calm Titania down. She follows him into his office. "I don't know through what miracle you got here so fast, but you look like you just ran a marathon."

"Climbed the stairs, same thing." Instinctively, Ike's hand reaches out for the signed ball in the showcase, but his secretary's warning look makes him change his mind. His hand goes up, and Ike awkwardly scratches his head instead.

Titania reaches for his tie and begins to readjust it. Of course she was right, of course he's completely incompetent when it comes to making the knot, especially when he's pressed for time. She still looks a little mad, but mostly at the fact that Ike ignored her advice concerning the bow tie. "Oh, Ike," she sighs, "the one day you should be on time, and your alarm doesn't work." Ike doesn't admit that he forgot to set the alarm clock, that he dozed off with a report about FOXHOUND in his hands. "That suit's a good choice, it goes well with the tie."

Frankly, Ike's a little annoyed at being treated like a twenty-two year old _intern_; but the next moment, Titania steps back. "Well, Mister Greilsson," she says and appreciatively nods (apparently he now looks presentable enough). "You've got a company to run." That he does. Titania grabs a few stray papers that have been cluttering his desk; it's suddenly impeccably tidy. "One more thing. Rumour has it Old Virgil can't come because he's got the flu, so make sure to mention SA wants him to get well as fast as possible. Show her that SA _cares._"

"Even though we don't want to work with them. I thought it's a _rumour?_" Ike takes off his jacket. He's still warm from racing up the stairs, and it's quite hot for an october morning.

"Yeah. A very likely one," Titania states and pushes him out of the room before he can get rid of his tie as well, the tie she's so carefully readjusted just moments before.

And thus, he makes his way through the long hall towards the lobby.

It's not the first time he has to tell a potential customer that their offer has been rejected. It's not the most rewarding task (not the least rewarding either, mind you), but someone has to do it, and it has to be someone in a leadership position.

It's basically always the same. Father has taught Ike how to do it. Firm voice. Direct and friendly, but not _too _friendly —so that the customer doesn't cherish false hopes—, get to the point fast and assert authority with the use of calm body language. Ike also likes to cross his arms to seem a little distant and unapproachable. He's quite impressively built and more on the tall side, which adds to the dominant aura that's required to fire people and hold his ground as Junior Senior Partner, as Mario likes to call him.

Maybe let the customer wait for a minute or two, not more. Which is what he's doing right now.

Of course there have been some clients who were outraged at having to hear from Ike that their deal with SA was off, but there's not much that can throw him off track, especially not at work. _Especially _not a middle-aged lady who —quite randomly— represents an old man at the top of a fading company.

But as he walks around the corner into the lobby, automatically looking around for Ranulf or the Harkinian woman, he doesn't find her. It's quite full. There are some women here, yes, three secretaries and a cleaning lady, but not one that could be the one he's supposed to meet.

He looks over to Ranulf at the other end of the room. SA's creative head is talking to someone, vividly gesturing as always. Ike swears that Ranulf has some freaky kind of sixth sense; his friend turns around the second Ike decides to go over to them, beckoning him over.

Now, again, Ike is someone who's hard to impress. And he's certainly not thrown off track, but what he definitely didn't expect is the woman that stands up from the couch as soon as Ranulf begins gesturing to him. At fist sight, there's nothing truly 'special' about her— if one is willing to ignore the fact (and Ike is) that she is _ridiculously _beautiful; but many women are— especially in New Pork City there's no shortage of beautiful women.

But after he holds out his hand and she reaches for it, he realises that it's the way she moves with such natural grace and poise.

Given that she's supposed to be Old Virgil's daughter, she's shockingly young— there's no other way to say it. Ike expected a hag of at least fifty years, but this one's half that age, even younger than him, and that's _very _hard to find in executive positions. It confuses him.

And she doesn't look at all like someone with such a pretentious name as hers.

"Zelda Harkinian? I'm Ike Greilsson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Her hand is slender in his, but her handshake as firm as her voice.

"My apologies for having kept you waiting. I hope Mister Cays here was good company."

"Mister Cays has been most delightful. Shall we get to business?" she straightforwardly asks.

"Certainly. If you would follow me to my office."

And Ranulf is forgotten. Ike takes the lead, happy that the girl (because that's what she ultimately is) seems to want to get it over with as fast as he does. She didn't beat about the bush, a trait Ike admires. He prefers getting straight to the point.

_Click click click click click._

The rhythmic echo of her heels sounds odd in the hall as he leads her past the windows. There's not many women working on the top floor, and those who do don't wear heels.

They pass a lot of people on the hall, amongst those Oscar, who politely greets them before merrily carrying on, and then Gatrie who sends the Harkinian girl a lecherous look along with googly eyes. Ike didn't forget Gatrie's jokes about having to meet with a withered hag, so while Zelda Harkinian isn't looking, he takes the opportunity to turn to the blond man and give him a nasty grin. Should've volunteered.

The door of his office comes in sight just a few moments later, and with it Titania, who's standing with her back to them, sorting papers leaned over her desk. She must've heard them approach; specifically the unusual sound of heels in the hallway. "Miss Harkinian, please meet my secretary, Miss Mato", Ike says and watches Titania shake the girl's hand. If she's surprised, she doesn't let it show. Of course not. Titania's an old stager.

"After you." Ike pushes the door open, inviting his visitor in. Zelda Harkinian then disappears in his office, and before he steps in after her, Ike looks back to Titania one more time.

Ah, there we go. The secretary has narrowed her eyes and shakes her head at him in confusion. Well, what is he supposed to say? Ike just shrugs and closes the door behind him.

Zelda Harkinian looks a little lost in the spacious room, it seems to him, standing there in her black pencil skirt and bright red blouse, quietly taking in the paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat", he offers and wants to go turn the visitor's armchair around for her, but she doesn't even wait for him to do that. So Ike walks around his desk while the girl gracefully sinks into the dark leather and puts her handbag on the floor. Ike doesn't know much about handbags (nothing, in fact), but somehow he's convinced that Zelda Harkinian's cost as much as a smaller car.

He doesn't sit down across from her in his father's chair. Instead, he leans against the windowsill, puts his hands on it. He doesn't want to be at eye level with her for this, he wants to be _above _her, both figuratively and physically.

"So," he begins. "Miss— or should I say Mrs?" She's wearing leathern gloves, so it's impossible to tell whether there's a ring on her finger.

"Miss," she says and tucks a strand of hair behind a pointed, Hylian ear.

"Miss Harkinian. First, on behalf of everyone at Subspace Advertising, we hope your father will be blessed with a quick recovery."

"How thoughtful. Thank you. I shall pass it on to him." She doesn't sound particularly thankful though, Ike would rather go with the term 'sarcastic'. And though he's no expert in human nature, she's just confirmed the rumour about her father. Her eyes look like two fallen pieces of sky, and something about them almost makes him feel a little bad about what he'll say next, but she takes the wind out of his sails. "Though it sure won't have a positive effect on his health to hear Subspace Advertising won't cooperate with us."

Ike's not shy by any means, but the woman's bluntness wipes away the sentence he's so carefully arranged, the sentence that's just been waiting on the tip of his tongue.

However, Ike's also someone who has the gift of gab. "And what have we done to make you think that?"

"Several things . It's not the first time an ad agency rejects us, and it won't be the last."

He crosses his arms, she crosses her legs. "I'm intrigued, Miss Harkinian. Please elaborate," he challenges her.

In the morning sun, the woman's hair looks like fluid milk chocolate as she pulls back the strand she's tucked behind her ear before. "Shall I list the less obvious signs, you mean? Besides the obvious ones, which I recognised because I wasn't born yesterday, if I may say so?"

Ike nods to encourage her. He's genuinely interested.

"You took quite your time with calling back. And when you did, it was only to inform us about a date for the meeting," she begins. "I've only been received by one person. Granted, Mister Cays is in a leadership position, but one not comparable to yours or Sir Mario's, who, incidentally, knows my father in person. Had our request been approved, we would've been Sir Mario's priority, but he's hasn't even turned up to as much as greet me. I know how it goes. There would've been a small crowd in the lobby already, ready to pop a bottle of champagne. Rejections generally take place in the morning, I assume so that the more pleasant tasks are saved for later in the day.

"Now as four you, Mister Greilsson, you were late for our meeting —yes, just by three minutes or so— which led me to believe you were either late or just not very interested in seeing me, possibly because rejecting duty forcibly fell on you. I'll take the liberty of insolently assuming Sir Mario thinks he has better things to do as well. And if I haven't been certain enough of how this discussion would end, my suspicions were pretty much cemented when you didn't immediately disagree when I accused you of not taking the deal. And you wouldn't have started with such an ominous 'so'."

Neither of them says anything for a few short moments after she's done talking. Ike observes her with narrowed eyes, and she observes him back, expectantly.

"Well, you were right about one thing— I was indeed late this morning." Zelda Harkinian bites her lip in a touch of suspicion, and Ike hates to crush her hopes. "And you were also right about everything else. I'm sorry to inform you that Subspace Advertising isn't ready to cooperate with Harkinian. But on a brighter note, your deductive skills are impressive."

Ike can clearly _see _the disappointment in her eyes, even though she looks away. It seems like she has to force herself to say something, but her voice is stronger than before as she stares straight back at him after a few seconds. "Tell me why."

He'll sugarcoat it. "Your company's currently exhibiting a downward trend. I know SA is specialising in PR, but given that previous fact and combined with our work methods, we're not sure we will be able to reach the right audiences to effectively promote Triforce Enterprises."

She sighs. "I understand."

"Again, I'm sorry. We based our decision—"

"On objective facts, yes. I know."

Ike decides to wildly assume it's not the first time she's heard that. "Once your father gets back on track, I'm sure your company will as well."

That was meant to be reassuring, but it has the opposite effect. Zelda Harkinian does something he thought he'd never see, something so _wrong _and unfitting for this woman that he thinks his mind is playing a trick on him: She bends down, buries her face in her hands and _groans._

Just for a second, though. In the blink of an eye she's back to elegantly sitting in the armchair— but still holding her face, apparently too embarrassed to even look at Ike. "I must apologise, I— that was entirely uncalled for."

And Ike realises that there _are, _after all, situations in which he doesn't know what to say. She could've just as well burst out in tears or randomly outed herself as a cross dresser and then jumped out the window, and Ike would've been less surprised than right now.

She's still avoiding his eyes, rather talking to the painting to his right. "Please excuse this sudden… _outburst _of emotions. It's just that— everyone says the same, and I've been to a dozen companies already. Abstergo, Umbrella, EA—"

"EA?" Ike knits his brows. "They take _everyone_."

Zelda Harkinian's face looks pinched. "Apparently not."

_Whoops._

"They don't admit it, but of course they've heard the rumours. I have heard them. _You _have heard them," she says.

_Objective facts_, he wants to say, but something tells him she won't believe him.

"Besides the flu, my father's as healthy as an eighty-three year old man can be. He doesn't plan to retire prematurely, so obviously there are no plans for me to be permanently put in charge, but I will be more and more involved in the company's executive functions."

_Prematurely. _Ike has to suppress a grin.

"The media don't know about that, so I'm not sure why I'm telling you this either," the woman continues and finally looks Ike in the eyes, "but probably _because _I've been rejected by a dozen companies. And they all rejected me because I'm young, because I'm a woman, because I don't look like someone who could potentially be the driving force of a corporation like Triforce Enterprises, I don't know." She shrugs. "They just straight away said 'no' without even listening to my plans for the company. And I _do _have plans."

She then pauses her monologue for a moment and seems genuinely confused that Ike didn't and doesn't interrupt her— he can tell, even though she hides it well.

"I know that with the right partners and enough time and effort, this could work. I have a vision," she adds, as graceful and sure of herself as if the past two minutes had been erased from their memories. Ike can tell that she really _is _convinced of her idea, and determined to convince him as well. And he doesn't know whether it's because he somehow understands what she's going through or because he knows what it's like to be compared to your father.

But that's the moment he actually sits down in the chair on the other side of his desk and uncrosses his arms, and decides to give her a chance at convincing him. "Tell me about this vision."

* * *

><p>"But I want to know <em>why <em>you took her on! Why, why, Ike, _why? _WHY?! Wha— We've discussed this! We agreed on not doing this, _together_" Mario slaps his right hand against his left palm, "we came to the conclusion that we won't take Harkinian!"

Ike knows. He was there, and since he didn't randomly develop some kind of condition that manifests itself in the form of sudden memory loss, he remembers very well to what conclusion they came. But that didn't help him half an hour ago, and it won't help him now, and it especially won't help Mario if Ike repeated that he _does _know, that he _does _remember. It would probably enrage the older man, who's got quite an explosive temper, even more. So Ike just sits in the visitor's armchair in Mario's office and quietly endures the Italian's temper tantrum.

Of course this tantrum isn't unjustified; Ike perfectly knows that what he's done was completely impulsive and unfair, but then again, he won't bother even trying to recite everything Mario has done without consulting his Junior Senior Partner first.

"WHY?" Mario screams, this time probably truly expecting an answer.

"I don't know, she was just very convincing," Ike calmly states and leans back into the chair.

"You- You don't know? You don't know? "I don't know" DOESN'T FUCKING CUT IT! The least you can do is _know _why you think the deal is worth it! And what the heck does that mean, 'she was convincing'?! Did she stick out her tits or what are you trying to say? Please, _do _explain!"

"Look, I believe in this deal. I can make it work."

Mario comes to a halt behind his desk and leans forward. "Oh, you will, Ike, let me tell you that." His voice is menacingly calm all of a sudden. "I want nothing to do with it, you took her on, ergo she is _your _responsibility. I just hope your father taught you well, boy, because this is where we'll see if you're worthy of his name. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

And Ike obediently stands up and leaves the room, knowing full well that come tomorrow, Mario will be back to his usual, jolly self.

But once the door closes behind him, Ike's heart drops as the idiocy of his own decision hits him with full force, as the realisation kicks in.

Midna, Mario's secretary, looks at him with a puzzled expression and suddenly reaches for a bottle of water, probably to dutifully offer him something to drink, when suddenly a very familiar face appears in front of Ike, and he's not allowed to give in to his destructive thoughts.

"So, where do we begin?" Ranulf's eyes, one teal, the other violet, are sparkling with thirst for action.

It's enough to bring Ike back to reality. He's made a mistake, yes, but he's a senior partner after all. He's got responsibilities, and the mistake has to be turned into something positive. "I already expected you to be dumb enough to jump on this sinking ship," he declares, and the two leave towards Ike's office.

"Watch your tongue, rookie. I'm your best bet at making this work, and we both know you're clueless when it comes to TE."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Please, I know you. Now how did she convince you? Please tell me it wasn't really tits, not only because that would be terribly unprofessional, but also because she's unremarkably—"

"I wasn't lying, Ranulf," Ike snaps. He doesn't even wonder how Ranulf heard that one comment. Mario was probably screaming loud enough for the entire floor to witness their 'private discussion'. "I have no idea _whatsoever _why I agreed to the deal, but it wasn't tits, you pervert, she just— really _was_ convincing, alright?! So stop being so damn exhausting and get the team ready. I want Soren from Finances and that new guy from Design in it—"

"Roy."

"Right, and you can choose the rest as you see fit. Wait, _not _this Priam guy from the eighth floor, damn does he suck. Get me the best people only. I've completely messed it up, so let's save what can be saved."

"I'm on it." Ranulf is frantically scribbling something on his notepad as they part.

"Ranulf!" Ike has forgotten something.

His friend turns around in confusion, his thoughts having so abruptly been interrupted. "Yeah?"

"You're also blind, there's at least a B-cup hiding under that shirt."

Ranulf grins, and in that exact moment, Titania comes round the corner. Ike sees Ranulf lower his head in shame and immediately scurry away, and at the shocked look on Titania's face, he wordlessly opens his door and decides to hide in his office in awkward embarrassment for the rest of the day.


End file.
